


don't wanna walk alone (so let's get married)

by whyyesitscar



Series: but we're here now [2]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 05:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18750013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyesitscar/pseuds/whyyesitscar
Summary: He could stay here forever.//Steve gets another chance at the life he always wanted. Later, when he really knows what it means to live it, he’s got more than a few pearls of wisdom to pass along to a retired Air Force captain.Canon-compliant with Endgame (mostly), so if you haven't seen it, turn around lest ye be spoiled.





	don't wanna walk alone (so let's get married)

**Author's Note:**

> i was a fool—a FOOL—to think i could visit the concept of steggy and danbeau in just one fic. so, this is now part two of a four-part series. lyrics for the title + at the beginning from mitski's cover of "let's get married" bc wow, what a heartbreaker.
> 
> enjoy!

_so i'm gonna look good for you honey;_  
_get my myself together, spend you all of my money._  
_i know it's hard enough to love me,_  
_but woke up in a safe house singing, ‘honey, let's get married’._

/

**i.**

“Steve?”

“Hi, Peg.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not surprised. Can we talk inside?”

She doesn’t say yes but she does turn slightly to the side, so Steve strides past with a gentle step and a quiet ‘thanks’.

It hasn’t really sunk in that he’s in the past until now. Going back to New York and Camp Lehigh, he and Tony stayed only long enough to get the stones and get out. They could have been in the future for all he noticed. But Peggy’s apartment doesn’t look like any home from his time; it looks like it’s pulled straight out of a book on the fifties, full of things that seem so familiar to Steve even though it’s not possible for him to remember them. He’s never been here before, either to this building or this year, but Steve feels like he’s home.

“Might seem like a strange question,” he starts, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “but it’s 1952, right?” Peggy simply nods. “Something like August?”

“You came back all the way from the middle of the ocean and you don’t know what day it is?”

Steve laughs. “No, I know perfectly what day it is. I just wanted to see you smile.”

“Speaking of that ocean…”

“Can I make you some tea? Get you anything else?”

“Steve, this is where _I_ live. You don’t know where anything is.”

“Bet you a buck I can figure it out,” he says, already halfway to the kitchen. Just about a decade of being a superhero, a constant and steady rock for his friends and everyone else, and here he is jittery at the sight of one pretty girl.

She’s worth it.

Steve lingers in the kitchen until the sniffling dies down. He finds a kettle and puts it on to boil, leaning against the counter and snapping his fingers until he realizes standing still is the last thing he can do right now. He busies himself waiting for the water by opening every single drawer and cabinet in the kitchen, studying Peggy’s cutlery and dishes. Twenty-first century technology and decor was wonderful; he had nothing against it. But—he holds up a fork and twirls it in his fingers—everything in here is kept with care. Steve might as well be in a museum right now, and only the quiet sounds of Peggy in the next room remind him that he’s not.

The kettle whistles and Steve jumps a little, dropping the fork back into its drawer. He pours two cups and tries not to clatter them on their saucers as he makes his way back to Peggy.

“I’d never know you were a super soldier with the racket you’re making,” Peggy teases.

“Sorry,” he chuckles sheepishly. He hovers awkwardly for a moment after setting her cup down, looking for somewhere else to sit that isn’t next to her on the sofa. Steve finally settles on an armchair that he has to muscle into an angle that lets him face Peggy **.**

“I have a lot of questions,” she murmurs.

“I think maybe there are a few things I should explain first,” Steve says, setting his tea on the coffee table and leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Let me start with— _god_ , it’s good to see you again, Peggy.”

“I’d forgotten just how good, after so many years.”

Steve smiles. He’s going to cry very soon, hopefully after he finishes telling Peggy everything. “It’s been more than seven years for me, and I know that sounds crazy. But I kind of figure you might be able to handle it since you’ve already seen a scrawny toothpick of a kid turn into a six-foot superhero. The Steve Rogers that crashed seven years ago...I’m not him.”

Steve watches Peggy take in his words, catches the white of her knuckles as they grip her teacup. “What was the last thing Steve Rogers said to me?”

He waves a hand. “I have all his memories, Peggy. I’m him, but I’m not him; it’s—I went down in ‘45 and I woke up 70 years later, and somewhere in the middle of the ocean is a Steve Rogers who’s going to do exactly that.”

“If you woke up in the future, what are you doing here?”

“I wouldn’t like to let a lady think I skipped out on a date.”

“Don’t you be coy with me, Steve.”

“Okay, okay.” He sighs and leans back in his chair. “There’s a lot to explain, Peggy, and smarter people to do it than me. But the short version is I woke up in 2011 and the world needed some saving. We won a lot, we lost a lot, and one of the things we learned along the way was how to travel through time.”

“You came here...from the future.”

“From a different timeline altogether, but yeah. You’re working with S.H.I.E.L.D. now, aren’t you?”

“How…?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. absorbed the S.S.R. and Howard asked you to help run it.” Steve looks around until he finds a newspaper laying on a table by the door. “Do you mind?” he asks, but he barely waits for an answer. “Howard Stark is gonna get married in a few months,” he says, writing on a corner and tearing it off. “This is his wife’s maiden name. If you still don’t believe me, take a look at that after the wedding.”

“If I still don’t believe you? Who says I believe you now?”

“I guess no one,” Steve laughs. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is a great thing, Peggy. You should be proud of it.”

“And you know this because presumably it’s still around in your time.”

“It is.”

Peggy puts her cup down a little too forcefully and smooths her fingers on her skirt.

“What was the last thing Steve Rogers said to me?” she asks again.

Steve tucks the folded bit of newspaper underneath his saucer. He stands up and smooths his fingers on his pants, suddenly nervous and shaky. Peggy looms the closer he gets to her, this apparition that he can reach out and touch. Perhaps she feels the same way about him.

He extends a hand and wishes, for the sake of charm, that the radio was playing. But her fingers close around his after a long moment, and he swears there are strings swelling somewhere nearby.

“We’ll have the band play something slow,” Steve says as Peggy draws closer to him. “I’d hate to step on your toes.”

She breaks on the last word. Steve sways them both as she cries into his chest.

He could stay here forever.

/

Steve does tell her everything, eventually and in waves. Peggy takes it all in stride, offering the largest reaction only when he mentions Bucky. She’s going to save him; Steve knows this. Peggy and Howard are going to take down H.Y.D.R.A. and rescue Bucky and then everyone is going to have a chance to rest.

Steve moves into an apartment a few blocks over from Peggy. He grows a Cary Grant mustache and hopes Howard won’t call him a copycat, gets a job drawing covers for a local magazine. It takes him a few weeks to be able to sleep through the night—the world is quieter in the fifties. Steve half expects to hear the clink of Tony fixing his suit, or the distant hum of the Nat firing up the holograms to check on Rocket and Nebula (the only ones who needed to be checked on—Carol, Okoye, and Rhodey could take care of themselves).

Five months after he comes back, Peggy knocks on his door.

/

She bursts out laughing as soon as she sees him.

“Sorry,” Peggy says, halfheartedly covering her mouth with her hand. “I shouldn’t laugh.”

“I look ridiculous, I know.” Steve steps back to let her in. “I don’t want to spoil too much about the future, but I’m looking forward to the day beards come back.”

Peggy appraises him for a moment. “I can’t imagine you with a beard.”

“Give it a few years,” he immediately replies. “Or, well—”

“I will,” she says quietly. “Perhaps more than a few, if that’s alright.”

“Better than alright,” he grins.

“The wedding was nice,” she offers pointedly. “You should say hello to Howard one of these days.”

“I plan on it.”

“Everything you told me about your timeline—can we truly stop it from happening?”

“I think so,” he nods. “Maybe not everything, but we could prevent a lot of bad things.”

“It’s going to take a few years to accomplish.”

Steve smiles and reaches for the radio behind him on the windowsill, turning the dial until he finds a slow standard that he finally gets to call contemporary. Tears well in his eyes and he extends his hand. This time, Peggy doesn’t hesitate to take it. “We’ve got nothing but time, Peg.”

“I’m starting to believe it,” she whispers, tipping up towards him.

She hasn’t kissed him in seven years—he hasn’t kissed her in seventy eight—but any amount of waiting would have been worth it.

/

**ii.**

The house is almost an island, out of sight from every neighbor except one. Steve spends most of the drive down the back road chuckling at the fact that Carol Danvers, constant wanderer, found a home in the middle of nowhere.

Peggy reaches for his hand over the middle console and gives it a good squeeze. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t seen Carol in half a century; I can’t wait.”

“Careful you don’t spill the beans,” Peggy warns with a smile.

“We’ll just tell them I’m a crazy old man. It isn’t too far from the truth.” He gets a slap on the wrist for that.

Steve can see movement inside as they pull up; he never met Maria in his time but there’s only one other adult in the house who isn’t Carol, so it’s not too hard to figure out who she is. There’s a pang in his chest as he spots the flashes of blonde hair, partially obscured by the kid Carol has on her shoulders.

God, he’s got so many questions for her.

He grabs the flowers and wine as they get out of the car. Peggy straightens the collar on his shirt even though he wishes he could lose it. The muggy Louisiana air is going to plaster it to his back eventually.

“Peggy, so glad you could make it.” Maria opens the door smiling. Steve likes her immediately. “Come on in where it’s cool.”

Steve follows, murmuring his thanks as Carol relieves him of his gifts, passing the flowers up to Monica, who pouts when the wine doesn’t immediately follow.

“Sam Carter,” he says as soon as his hands are free. “Peggy’s old ball and chain.”

It took some getting used to, the name change, but everyone had agreed that it would only help him hide his real identity. Of course, it’s barely necessary now—between the wrinkles and his much skinnier frame, no one who remembered Steve Rogers would ever make the connection.

“Nice to meet you,” Maria says with just a hint of surprise. “Um, dinner’s almost ready so why don’t we go sit down.”

Peggy chats with Carol and Maria while they sit. Steve is content just to watch. After years of combat it’s impossible for him not to notice the little things—the funny faces Carol and Monica trade when Monica gets restless; the way Maria keeps stealing glances over at him, frowning for a moment before she can hide it.

"Peggy says you're an artist, Sam," Maria prods.

Steve waves away the words. "That's a little generous. I drew a few comics back in the day. I'm living the retired life now."

"You drew comics?" Monica pipes up. "Which ones?"

"Did you ever read any issues of _The Avengers_?"

" _You_ drew the Avengers?"

"A few of them, yeah. But there are better people than me drawing them now."

(He did more than draw them. Steve keeps the memory and legacy of his friends alive even though this world doesn't have any need for them. Only a few people know who actually created them; Steve made sure to publish the comics under a pseudonym. He'll say it's a protection to ensure no one figures out his secret, but really it's nice to have something that belongs just to him.)

"Who's your favorite superhero?" he asks.

He definitely doesn't miss Monica looking to Carol before she answers.

"Storm!" she roars, clenching her fists and imitating thunder. "She's so cool; she can control the weather and everything."

Steve laughs into his glass of wine. "Of course—one of the few I never worked on."

"And Thor is pretty funny," she adds.

"There you go."

"Can you sign one for me?"

"I'll sign as many as you want; you can sell those for a good price."

"Don't tell her that," Peggy chides.

"What? Kids are already pretty enterprising; what's wrong with helping it along?"

"She definitely won't sell any of them," Maria promises.

"Yeah, you should see her room; Trouble here is a little hoarder," Carol teases. "Can't make any promises for me, though."

"Auntie Carol!"

"Run up and get your comics, squirt."

Monica peels off and thunders up the stairs. They all laugh at the quirks of raising a teenager—Maria and Carol at the reality of it, Peggy and Steve at the memory.

Steve gets up when Maria does, helping her clear plates.

“You move fast for an old guy,” Carol jokes. “That’s my job.”

“I’ve gotta get the chivalry in somewhere; Peggy’s not impressed anymore.”

Maria rolls her eyes. “Sit down, both of you.”

Steve isn’t swayed. “Too late; I’ve got half the table.”

Maria smiles and lets him follow her to the kitchen. “Before you get any ideas, I’m not letting you wash or dry any of these.”

“I can handle that.” Steve notices the tension in her back as she scrapes food into the trash. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, adopts his best ‘wise old man’ face, and leans against the counter. “So. You’re mad at Peggy, huh?”

“What?” Maria turns around and gives him a long look.

He gives it right back. “Come on and show me that plane you’ve got in the yard. I miss being around them.”

He finds the back door and opens it before she has a chance to stop him. The night has cooled off a little bit, not much, and the cicadas are singing. Steve likes the noise of the south—it’s not as loud as a big city, but it’s persistent. There’s something comforting about a bug whose purpose is to pop out of the ground every few years and scream. (Once again, Steve laughs at the prospect of Carol ending up here.)

Maria rustles in the grass behind him.

“Mind if I hop in the cockpit?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Guess not,” she calls back. She joins him a moment later and only gives him a little bit of a stink eye. “Did you fly?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I missed out on the war. Too sick and scrawny.”

“Scrawny? I don’t believe it.”

“I grew out of it.”

Maria huffs and readjusts, leaning against the door. “Why do you think I’m mad at your wife?”

“Because she’s married and I’m old, so we’ve probably been together a while. A little over forty years, I think—Peggy would know for sure. But you thought she was waiting for Captain America.” He takes her silence as confirmation. “You thought you had that in common.”

Maria flashes hurt eyes at him. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not saying I know what she felt after he crashed. I wish I could have been there, if only I’d found her a few years earlier. To go through what she did and to do it mostly alone...it takes a special kind of strength, a special kind of person.”

“Doesn’t feel very special,” Maria scoffs.

“I guess not. How’s Carol doing?” he asks after a few moments of silence. He smiles at Maria’s wary expression. “I don’t know if it’s a hard and fast rule, but S.H.I.E.L.D. agents can pick one person to share the secrets of the universe with. Or maybe I’m just special, you know—married to the boss and all.”

Maria finally laughs. “God, how did you _ever_ end up with someone like her?”

“Trust me, I wonder that every day.”

“She’s getting there,” Maria answers. “Better than she was two years ago. It’s not all back, nowhere near, but it’s something.”

“And you?”

“I remember everything.”

Steve waits a moment, lets the wind buffet against the side of the plane. “It took a while,” he eventually says, “for Peggy and I to get together. I think it was hard for her to let go of him, and I spent a long time trying to figure out how to fill his shoes. It’s not the easiest thing in the world, loving without expectations.”

Maria nods. “Peggy told me once that she still hopes he’ll come back.”

“If I could make that happen for her, I would. But I’m here now. Carol’s here now.” He turns to look at her and hopes she can see his sincerity. “You know she’s an absolute fool for you, right?”

(He won’t tell her how he knows that, how he’s seen another Carol’s eyes light up when she talks about Maria—how good of a pilot, a person, a mother she is; how many happy memories they have together. Carol doesn't need powers to glow when it comes to the topic of Maria. There are an infinite number of Carol Danvers in the universe, and every one of them is crazy about the Rambeaus.)

“Since day one,” Maria blushes, “and it only got worse once Monica came along.”

“Oh, well that one’s a no-brainer. You got the best kid.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause she likes your comics.”

“You know, it certainly doesn’t hurt.”

“Careful—I’ll push you out of my plane.”

He grins, waiting for the shove.

“In the last eight years, I think you and Peggy are the only people I’ve ever talked to about Carol,” Maria continues. “It’s nice, I guess.”

“Moooooom! Mr. Carter! Auntie Carol put out the pie and we’re gonna eat it!” For a brief moment, Monica drowns out the drone of cicadas as she yells.

Both Steve and Maria smile. “Guess that’s our cue,” she says. “By the way, I didn’t know Carter was Peggy’s married name.”

“It’s not.” Steve turns to slide out of the plane. He’s perfected the art of moving older than he feels over the years, so Maria is already on his side with an outstretched arm before he can get one foot out the door. “I didn’t have much of a need for my old one, so I figured I might as well take hers. Once she said yes, of course.”

“You know, for a guy old enough to be my father, you’re pretty modern.”

“You have no idea,” Steve laughs. “Peggy gave you her business line, didn’t she? I’m gonna give you the house phone; don’t let me forget before we leave. You want to talk about anything, you call me. And when you do—”

“—call you Sam?” Maria finishes. “Peggy said almost the exact same thing when Carol came back.”

“Oh, well now that one she definitely got from me.”

/

The dishes are washed and dried when they get back in. Carol has laid out pie and plates; Steve spies his wife’s handiwork in the folded napkins and perfectly set places. Monica sits at the head of the table, a thick pile of comics next to her elbow.

“All these are for me, huh?” He rustles through the stack like a flip book.

“I started looking and didn’t see any with your name on it so I just brought them all down,” Monica explains.

Steve smiles and starts sifting through the collection. “That’s because I used a different name when they were published. Don’t worry, I’ll pull out the right ones.”

He signs comics between bites of pie and Monica’s endless supply of questions. After a few minutes, Maria pops to the kitchen to refill glasses of water for the table. On her way back, she hovers next to Carol, hand on the back of her neck and fingers scratching up into her hair. They’re both smiling at Monica’s enthusiasm.

Steve hopes they’ll let him visit again very soon.

/

**iii.**

He’s been a prisoner for almost ten years when they find him. Steve hasn’t told Peggy that part yet, the details of how and when Bucky was captured. It’s a story for another time, maybe never. Not all burdens are meant for everyone to carry.

But they find him in Russia—the Soviet Union; he’s got to get used to that—and Steve finally gets a chance to complete his rescue mission. He asks Peggy if they can put off marriage until Bucky remembers him. It’s one of the few times she tells him no. Steve stews for a day or so before coming to his senses. Peggy has given him the world, _this_ world; the least he can do is return the favor.

They rescue Bucky and six months later, Peggy and Steve get married. He shaves his mustache and dares anyone to find him out. (No one does). Howard is his best man because Bucky’s still fragile, and it stings, standing at the altar without him. He gets married in the middle of June with the sun streaming in through stained glass. Steve is too preoccupied with Peggy to check on Bucky as much as he wants to but he peeks over once, before they present the rings, and finds Bucky looking back at him. His hair is no longer a matted mess, the dirty beard is gone, sunlight catches in his eyes and evaporates the ghosts that live there, and then—he smiles.

Steve gets married to the love of his life with his best friend beaming from the second pew.


End file.
